


Sudden Life Changes

by Jess_S



Series: Felicitas [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depictions of injury, Episode Tag, F/M, Felicitas-verse - Freeform, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, s01e14 The Odyssey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4098337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_S/pseuds/Jess_S
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because bullets and blood build bonds... and traumatic memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 6/8/2015. REVISED: 9/26/2015.  
> Story separated into 7 separate scenes, 1 of them new.  
> 3,396 more words.

_ Felicity Smoak's P.O.V. _

 

Felicity didn't bother disguising the fact that she was hurrying to her car; she had an obvious reason to hurry.

 

 

It was late; too late to still be working unless you were paid a lot more than she was or it was some kind of emergency. Or your so-called supervisor was starting to let his inferiority complex show again, since the 'interim' C.E.O hadn't shown any interest in following up on her missing husband's planned promotion for Felicity, and Oliver Queen favoring her for his odd projects hadn't led to any particular preferential treatment.

 

Felicity tried to shrug her annoyance at the situation off as she reached into her coat pocket for the her key fob. It wasn't easy.

 

The unfairness of it all especially.

 

Because Oliver Queen wasn't just a very bad liar—so bad some of the time that she had to wonder if he was even really trying. More than that, though; he was the young, famous, and ridiculously handsome heir apparent. And he knew how to use all of that to his advantage when he wanted to, but the rest of the time it didn't seem to be even an afterthought. Maybe everyone noticing him all the time wasn't all that important to Oliver himself—though one would think it should be, considering the less than legal secret he was keeping—but maybe he was just too used to it to care.

 

Never mind that always coming to Felicity, no matter how flattering, was a trigger for gossip that was much less gratifying. That that kind of gossip, each time it was rekindled by a revisit or just someone feeling jealous, led to more of the looks she didn't like. Not because she couldn't defend herself if some stupid bastard ever acted on the impulse behind some of those unwanted looks. No, she'd almost prefer that. At least then some of her stress could be directed to painting bruises and breaking bones belonging to someone who deserved it. The passive-aggressive, jealous cattiness and snooty superiority really shouldn't be what she was the most perturbed about, but there it was; making her miss the Amazon nation, where squabbles were quickly decided in sparring contests.

 

Inspired all over again by the fact that her wait for Oliver's real reaction to what she'd told him about his stepfather seemed to be over. And while it'd taken him a few days to get around to it, if the revelation she'd hit him with was as much of surprise as she'd thought, then it was also a very unpleasant one. Still, his reaction had come: in the form of The Hood had attacked Missus Queen. Though she was pretty sure 'attacked' was a strong word, since she couldn't imagine that Oliver Queen would ever actually _attack his mother_. Even with the bombshell she'd dropped on him in mind. Whether he had or not though was neither here nor there, since security wanted all employees out of the building.

 

The cops probably wouldn't be pleased about that; since they'd want to take statements—like 'oh yeah! I saw this guy repelling down the side of the building' or 'he went that way!' But security said 'go home, you're done for the night.' So she was hurrying to her car, hours after she should've gone home anyway, but a few hours before she probably would have if Mike—one of the nice night guards who knew she worked too many hours as it was—hadn't called her before lockdown the police would probably call for started with their siren heralded arrival.The S.C.P.D weren't here yet though; the sirens sounded surprisingly still pretty far away.

 

The cute little 'chirp' her mini-cooper made when she unlocked it made her smile; she liked little things like that. Itty bitty things that were meant to amuse. They made the world just that little bit better to live in, if only by breaking up the conundrum of the day-to-day.

 

But the inside of her car normally didn't smell like blood, so that scent had her freezing just as she shut the door. Her hand automatically flew to the handle of the tazer she kept in her coat pocket as she heard a groan from the backseat.

 

A tazer wouldn't slow another Immortal down for long, but it'd give her time to either get to her sword (any one of them) or get away. And it was a hell of a lot easier to hide than a sword, especially with the modern days rather revealing, form fitting fashions.

 

Though it couldn't be an Immortal here, she'd have sensed them from at least outside of her car. Even if they knew how to rein in their Quickening like she did: _no one_ could reign it in enough to not be sensed when you were right next to them. Her best was about a dozen feet for total dampening, though she usually didn't bother doing anymore than dimming it so that her actual power level didn't act as a beacon for trouble. Too much effort most of the time.

 

A pained groan became a familiar voice saying, "I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity." Though each word was agonized and breathless, nearly rendering the voice of the vigilante unrecognizable even when she already knew who he was.

 

Felicity forced the expected question as she spun around to look at the green (and hood) clad man that'd been hiding in her backseat. "How-How do you know my name?" she asked, hoping her face still looked more worried than relieved.

 

She _really_ hoped Methos never found out about this—it wouldn't matter that she'd sense another Immortal coming from too far off for them to surprise her like this, he'd point out that some Immortals did employ mortals. She did once, after all; though only as guards. Never mind what her 'big brother' would probably say if he realized she was attracted to the now badly bleeding man.

 

"Because," the vigilante breathed out roughly. "You know my name," he told her, then he tugged back his hood.

 

Revealing the handsome face she was expecting to see, now only slightly hidden by the grease-paint his evidently smeared around his eyes to make the hood's shadow entirely effective in concealing his identity. Or at least as effective as it ever could be; if anyone ever yanked that Hood back or what have you, it wouldn't do much concealing at all.

 

"Oliver, oh...oh, wow. Ev-Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear." Felicity didn't really have to force the stammer. Not when the man who was hiding from the cops that'd be here soon was also bleeding all over her backseat.

 

It'd been centuries since she'd worked professionally in any medical capacity and the stench of bloom permeating the air, along with the surprise of finding anyone in the backseat of her supposedly securely locked car, had adrenaline zapping ever nerve in her body. Once women with that kind of knowledge and life choice had a tendency to end up burning at the stake, or beheaded if the locals felt merciful, so from the Dark Ages onward it just hadn't seemed like the wisest of callings. But Oliver's whole upper body was saturated by blood, which had to becoming from a pretty bad wound.

 

"You're bleeding..."

 

That earned her an incredulous look. "I don't need to be told that."

 

"You need a hospital," Felicity corrected herself as she turned back around, slamming her car key into the ignition, even though she knew he'd shoot that down, too.

 

Better to get going before there were enough cops outside to actually enforce the lockdown that security should have started but didn't. Somehow she doubted they vigilante would react well to being banished to her trunk. If he could even move himself right now.

 

"My-My father's old factory, in the Glades," Oliver insisted, still breathing very harshly; each deep breath almost a gasp. His eyes drooping with the exhaustion as she glanced back again.

 

That told her he'd been hiding in her car, blood spilling out of him and onto the seats, for an unhealthily long time. Not that any time spent losing lots of blood was ever a good thing for a mortal. Or an Immortal, depending on the circumstances.

 

"No," Felicity immediately objected, the easiest response rolling off her tongue, even as she backed up then started for the exit. "You need a doctor. Not a steelworker."

 

She knew that taking him to the hospital would end up with him being accused of being the Hood, again at the very least. Even if they (meaning Felicity) tried to change his clothing and what have you... So she really, really hoped he had some sort of medical facility at the Foundry that'd soon become a nightclub that she was quickly planning the fastest way to.

 

She didn't need to ask where it was. She already knew. It was one of the places that made sense for him to setup at least a temporary hideout for the Hood. She'd figured that out early on, and it'd only been confirmed as a near certainty by the news that Oliver Queen intended to open up a new club in that very same spot. She looked both ways before turning out of the parking garage and started driving away from all the flashing lights.

 

"Felicity..." he said her name so seriously she was almost glad the first light she came to was red (it always was because it was one of the shortest lights in the city). She looked back at him in the rearview mirror, worriedly impressed when the drained man somehow managed to hold her gaze, even though it probably took every bit of stubborn strength he had left. "You have to promise me... that you are going to take me to my father's factory... and nowhere else."

 

"...Yeah, promise," Felicity gave in then, not wanting to waste important time arguing when he probably wouldn't remember this that well anyway. Not when wasting energy wasn't something the wounded warrior should be doing right now.

 

Oliver sagged back down into the seat, his breathing ragged and harsh, as she turned left as soon as the green arrow appeared, the familiar motion jerky with nerves.

 

"Something tells me blood stains are not covered under my lease," the Immortal sighed, driving carefully just below the speed limit on the off-chance that some of the speed traps on this stretch of road hadn't been abandoned for the race to Q.C.

 

"I'm good for it," Oliver surprised her with the cocky mutter that was befitting of a billionaire—even one that was bleeding to death in the backseat.

 

" _You_ just stay awake," Felicity told him firmly. Then grimaced. "How do I get into your secret lair, anyway?"

 

Because he had to have a security system, and while she could probably hack it, she'd rather not waste the time.

 

"And there's gonna be help there, right?"

 

"Ye-Yeah," Oliver choked out the affirmation.

 

Felicity risked another glance back as she came to another red light, not surprised to find an expression of fierce concentration on his face. "You-You're keeping pressure on—"

 

"I've got it... Felicity," the vigilante cut her off, his voice a little too out of breath to be called demanding. "Just... get me to the factory... Please."

 

"Were you shot in the chest or shoulder?" she asked, speeding up slightly to get through the next yellow light, breathing a sigh of relief when no lights or sirens started nearby. She was trying to save someone's life here, that _should_ count for a lot—but all a police officer would see is that the guy she's trying to save is obviously the vigilante and obviously Oliver Queen. Which would be _bad_.

 

And could mean exposing her not-quite-normal talents to Oliver, and she didn't really know him well enough to think exposing the existence of Immortals to him would be a good thing. And, unfortunately, with her luck he wouldn't let her using 'The Force' on a cop go as a weird, blood-loss induced dream or something similar. While she didn't know him _well_ , Felicity did recognize Oliver Queen per type enough to know his mind would not be easily influenced, even by a multi-millennia-old Quickening. Ironically, he wouldn't be ' _her_ type,' as Methos dubbed them, if he was.

 

"Lower shoulder," the man sighed heavily. "Near my neck."

 

Felicity grimaced, sending up a quick prayer to whoever listened that the bullet had at least managed to miss everything vital around there.

 

The amount of blood on her backseat made that seem unlikely, but he'd managed to get down from the top floor of Q.C to her car in the parking garage without leaving a trail of blood, and he was now still conscious—though that might not be the case for much longer—so happy thoughts weren't necessarily a bad thing.

 

"Who's—oh, is Mister—"

 

"Digg's at... basement," he cut in again to confirm, his deep breaths even more labored as he kept his eyes open by sheer willpower. "Yeah. He'll... know what... to do."

 

She would've liked to hope that 'knowing what to do' might involve calling a doctor that, for some reason or another, would never reveal that the Vigilante and Oliver Queen were one and the same. But remembering, 'I ran out of sports bottles,' she doubted it. A lot.

 

"Is the door open?"

 

"'Roun' back... of club. South alley... Code's... 1, 4... 1..." he barely got the last number out before he finally passed out. Hopefully his security code really was just three digits long. Otherwise she'd have to settle for banging on the door, and anywhere in the Glades it wasn't a great idea to attract any attention to yourself, whether you had the infamous vigilante passed out and bleeding to death in your backseat or not.

 

Felicity glanced back at him again with another worried frown, but then forced her eyes forward again as she pressed down harder on the gas as soon as they cleared the downtown area.

 

It was only a few minutes later that she was driving around the old Q.C factory, looking for the door. It wasn't the longest few minutes of her life—she'd been around a very long time—but the tense minutes of listening to make sure he was still breathing would likely still haunt her.

 

She came to a rubber squealing stop by what had to be the right door—it was about a third of the way the south side of the building, like he'd said; down an alley that was just wide enough for one vehicle to drive down. And it had a keypad, which meant the security system with its short password. The car was in park and off as she leapt out, the keys being tucked into her coat pocket with one hand while she opened the back door with the other and looked anxiously at the unconscious man.

 

Felicity tugged at his collar to expose the blood-soaked, makeshift bandaged he'd been bandaging the bullet-wound with. The immediate surge of fresh blood that wet her fingertips at that made her press it down more firmly, even though it was drenched through. Then she yanked at the sleeve of her jacket till it tore off, folding the thick material up to bunch it between his jacket and the bandage he had in place—hoping the added pressure would help while she found the man who pretended to be his bodyguard.

 

Then she stepped back, slamming the car door back in place and running for the building. She'd been in situations like this before, too many times for her to bother trying to move Oliver. There was no way _she_ could move _him_ by herself. Not while he was completely unconscious and unable to help at all. Amazingly fit though he was those muscles weren't weightless and calling on her Quickening for strength in situations like this was rarely a good idea. Especially when she may soon need it anyway, and there should be help on hand for actually moving him. That was what John Diggle's muscles must be for.

 

1-4-1 unlocked the door, as promised, and she wasn't surprised to hear the familiar voice of a local newsman talking about the attack as she hurried down the stairs.

 

" _—attacked Missus Queen in her office earlier tonight. She was unharmed in the assault._ "

 

She was too worried about whether Oliver wouldn't wake up again if his heart stopped from blood loss to focus on making sure her feet made noise like a 'normal' person's probably would. Which was likely why she scared the living daylights out of John Diggle when she said, "Excuse me?"

 

But, hey, at least Diggle only _pointed_ his gun at her—he didn't _shoot_ her. And even if he had, she'd get better fast, so Felicity wasn't inclined to hold it against him as she met his wide-eyed gaze.

 

"Can-Can you help me?" she requested, meeting his wide-eyed gaze steadily. "He's _really_ heavy!"

 

The ex-soldier stared at her for a long second, then the realization dawned, and he was putting his gun away and bolting up the stairs she'd just come down.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_ John Diggle's P.O.V. _

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

John wasn't really listening to the heart monitor as he stitched up Oliver's latest wound, it was more of a reassuring background noise that he was aware of; because it meant that, with the wound now stitched up and a lot of the blood he'd lost at least partially replaced, the man on the table should soon be on the mend.

 

"Good job," Felicity complimented him as he pulled the last stitch through, sounding so much like a proud parent for a second that he glanced at her just in time to see her face twist as she set her tools down on the table next to the bullet he'd extracted and all the other bits of bloody gauze. "...I think."

 

The odd look made him wonder what'd caused it. Her recognition of her tone? The fact that she'd just assisted in sewing up a gunshot wound? Or everything just hitting her as the adrenaline started to wear off?

 

Nonetheless, John nodded. "His heart rate's elevated," he indicated the monitor's too-fast beat with a jerk of his chin as he set the tools down. "But at least the bleeding's stopped." He turned back to her as he took off his gloves, watching her do the same even as she looked up to meet his eyes. "Thanks for your help. You kept your head on."

 

Looking back on it, actually, the tech-girl's seemingly clearheaded control was more than a little impressive. It was the kind of thing that could be instilled into soldiers, agents, operatives, and everyone else who needed to be trained to work in decidedly dangerous, high-adrenaline situations. But it wasn't the sort of thing she should've learned at M.I.T, so that made her one of the very, very rare people that such discipline came to naturally. Though it also meant he'd have to keep an eye on her for when she eventually broke, whether it was from shock or if the adrenaline crash that hit her first.

 

The I.T girl shrugged, looking much more self-conscious now that the man that'd sort of brought them both here wasn't necessarily going to die any second now. "Well, I always wondered how I'd react if I found my boss shot and bleeding inside my car." Then she frowned, shaking her head. "Not that I helped because he's my boss. I'd help _anyone_ who was shot and bleeding in my car."

 

John couldn't help but smirk slightly in amusement at her babbling, though he was surprised all anew by the pure altruism of her character.

 

Most people, most civilians, if they found someone badly hurt would help by calling an ambulance, maybe taking them to the hospital. Not let themselves be talked into playing both paramedic then surgical assistant. It was yet another instance that proved the vigilante's trust in her wasn't based on her pretty face and short skirts. Though Digg still thought attraction—and the smiles she managed to surprise out of Oliver—were a factor in why the younger man kept going back to her with weaker and weaker cover stories.

 

Diggle watched her look around for a moment, then asked, "I was thinking all of this would be more of a shock?" he indicated everything around them, and what it represented, with a general shrug.

 

The blonde folded her hands in front of her, smiling a little as she looked at one of the many displays of arrows in the room.

 

"What?" the ex-soldier asked her, grinning at everything the oft babbling girl was now saying with her silence. "Are you saying you called this all along?"

 

Given how bright the girl was—something that'd be obvious even if the profile Oliver had gotten from the Q.C employee database didn't list her I.Q test score as the highest in the entire I.T department, by a lot—it wasn't an impossibility.

 

"I'm not saying anything," the tech genius replied, but she was still smiling back at him as she continued. "Except... Oliver brought me a laptop riddled with bullet holes, had me trace a black arrow, and research a company involved in armored-car heists... I may be blonde, but I'm not _that_ blonde."

 

John nodded along, and all-out smirked as she finished. "Yeah," he agreed as he grabbed a towel to wipe his hands yet again. "Oliver's not too great with cover stories."

 

"Neither are you," Felicity chuckled, shaking her head. "The two of you with that whole 'energy drink hang-over cure?' _Please._ "

 

John had to snort slightly in agreement.

 

"What was really in that needle, anyway?" the tech asked curiously.

 

He glanced up at her before he answered, wanting to see her reaction. "Vertigo."

 

Except there wasn't really a reaction. Like she was expecting it. And that made John wonder just how close to the truth she'd gotten with the clues Oliver had unintentionally left her each time he called on her expertise.

 

"I knew it," Felicity nodded a moment later; just a bit too late. "I mean, I didn't _know_ it was Vertigo, for sure, but I definitely knew it wasn't something that could cure a hangover."

 

"Yeah, we needed it analyzed so we could take down The Count."

 

That, at least, got a blink out of her. And that told him that she'd done enough research to recognize the moniker in relation to the drug the madman sold.

 

When she didn't say anything in response, John added, "Without your help, Felicity, we never would have found him." He didn't mind telling her; giving credit where it was due.

 

The I.T girl blinked again, then shook her head. "But why come to me?" she asked softly.

 

Something about the way she asked that didn't ring quite right to him. It sounded more like there might be more reasons than her skill set for Oliver to have picked her. Even though John didn't think that was the case. Still, it seemed she thought there was more, too, than the chemistry so clear between them it almost made the older man want to revert back to high school solutions and lock them in a closet together till they worked it out. Not that that'd work—before Oliver had revealed he was the vigilante to Felicity, he would've played the bad boy card and just picked the lock, now he'd break down the door.

 

Maybe there was. Oliver hadn't admitted anything about this girl, even the fact that he trusted her was made obvious by the fact that he kept seeking her out rather than any actual answers to John's smirks or raised eyebrows.

 

Still the number of things Oliver knew about John's own past—his classified military past—made him wonder if the billionaire with his many connections of various repute knew something about her that he wasn't sharing. Or if Oliver could actually know anything beyond the unintentional innuendos that slipped into her babbles or her sky-scraping I.Q and bright smile. Because how much could a supposed background check into a computer genius turn up if she didn't want anything to show up? Between solider and archer, their skill sets didn't have much to do with keyboards. But hers did.

 

But John didn't say anything about that. Instead he focused on the positive answer. "Hard as it probably is for him to admit." He looked back at the man on the table. "Even Oliver needs help sometimes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the only actual new scene for this story.  
> It's a short, sort-of stream of consciousness (subconsciousness, really), so if you don't like that you might want to skip it.

_ Oliver Queen's P.O.V. _

 

He'd been here before. More than once... It was never a good thing.

 

How had it this time?

 

Oliver strained to remember for only a second before it came back to him;

_"Moira Queen... you have failed this city!"_

_ _

_"Please don't kill me... I-I'm a mother. I have a son—Oliver. A daughter. Her name is Thea. She's just a teenager. **Please** don't take me from my children! They've lost their father. They **can't** lose me, too... Please. Whoever you are, **please**."_

__

_BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!_

_ _

_"...This is Moira Queen. I'm on the 39th floor, I need help... There's an intruder! Please!"_

 

His mother had shot him. But as much as that hurt, the terror on her face as she pleaded with him, begged him not to kill her, had hurt him more than a bullet ever could.

 

That bullet had done plenty of damage. He'd frozen when she pulled the gun on him, unable to make himself move till she'd already gotten two shots off —and that bullet had hit hard.

 

It was all he could do to make himself move and keep moving to get to one of the elevators careful to keep pressure on his wound. Going out the window as planned not an option when his arm could fail him thirty-nine floors up. He'd been making himself head for the nearest car for a little grand theft auto when he'd spotted Felicity coming out of the elevators not long after he himself had. It'd taken him only a moment to spot her car then—thankfully the quirky little vehicle was memorable. His strength already failing even his stubbornness, it'd been such a relief to see her that he hadn't even thought about what he was doing as he ducked cars and through the railing to the ramp she'd parked halfway up, making it there just as she rounded the corner and triggered the automatic unlock.

 

He'd regretted it almost immediately. After terrifying his own mother, the thought of scaring Felicity Smoak seemed apocalyptic. Filling each second he'd had to wait for her to reach her driver's seat with its own torturous doubts and fears.

 

_"I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity."_

_"How-How do you know my name?"_

_Because... you know my name."_

_"Ol-Oliver. Oh... Oh, wow. Ev-Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear."_

 

She should have run screaming. Should have bolted from the car as soon as she saw his green hood. Over his face or not.

 

Instead she'd agreed to help him?

 

_"Felicity... You have to promise me... that you are going to take me to my father's factor... and nowhere else."_

_"...Yeah. Promise."_

 

The ride after that was a blur.

 

Had he promised to buy her a car? Somehow that didn't quite fit with the worried looks she kept shooting over her shoulder and at the rearview mirror as he'd been fighting to breathe...

 

Suddenly, agony overwhelmed everything else. Every thought flew from his head as the panicked pain took over.

 

Everything hurt; everything was wrong.

 

Abrupt heat exploding through him might've made him scream if he knew where his mouth was, but it was hard to know anything at all.

 

The panic kept building along with the pain.

 

The abrupt heat shot through again—then everything seemed to stop.

 

And Oliver thought maybe he could breathe again, but every breath was an effort all its own. Exhaustion pulled at it him, but at least the pain had stopped and the panic was dulling, slowly seeping away with it.

 

He wanted to cringe away from the light at first—after the Island, the darkness felt more like a home as it was, never mind when he might be dying and had no desire to go towards that light.

 

But it was familiar somehow.

 

It was...

 

Felicity?

 

Oliver couldn't say how he knew that. He couldn't say anything, actually; his mouth was still off somewhere he didn't know.

 

But that bright light wasn't frightening once he'd recognized it. Then it was going through him, like calm waves coming up on the beach.

 

Everything became right then.

 

Oliver didn't realize he was cold till he suddenly wasn't, with warmth washing through him.

 

The agony dulled to aching.

 

The exhaustion became fatigue.

 

And the panic was replaced with peace and that feeling of joy that always surprised him, that he only felt around her.

 

" _You are remarkable, Felicity._ "

_"Thank you for remarking on it."_

_ _

 

Oliver smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Felicity Smoak's P.O.V. _

 

_BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!_

 

"What's happening?" Felicity forced herself to say as she reached the gurney just a step behind Diggle.

 

Even though she hadn't worked with much modern medicine professionally, she recognized what Oliver's body was doing. The convulsions jerking and jumping all of his limbs as his heart went out of control—fighting for life—were once a sign that that life would soon be over. At least without magical intervention.

 

And no matter what they got wrong in T.V shows the rapid sound was fairly distinctive. Almost as recognizable as the flat-lining sound that might follow it. A horrible clamor that only made it harder for her to not call her Quickening up for the sort of healing that wasn't magic by an strict practitioner's definition, but could still lead to a flaming stake in times only a few centuries past.

 

"There's a syringe labeled Ativan." Diggle told her, gesturing towards the medical cart he'd pulled the blood out of earlier even as he moved to hold Oliver's jerking body in place. "It should stop the seizure. Go."

 

_BEEP-BEEP-BEE-EEE-EEE-EEP!_

"His heart stopped," the ex-soldier said unnecessarily.

 

Felicity hesitated for just a second, her own heart dropping as she stared at Oliver's bloody, still form. Then, as Diggle turned towards the medical cart again, she asked, "Shouldn't we call 9-1-1?"

 

"No. Wait! You can't!" the big man objected, hurrying back with what looked like a defibrillator in hand.

 

Felicity winced as they took another step into modern medicine, having already decided that no matter what happened to her in this lifetime, however much longer it lasted, she was going into medicine for the next one. She didn't like being so far behind the times that stuff like this felt like they might as well be toys rather than tools. And it wasn't like witch burnings were likely anymore, so there wasn't really a reason to keep avoiding that profession in general. "You know how to use one of those?"

 

"We're about to find out," the pseudo-medic answered.

 

Felicity stumbled back from the medical gurney as he thrust the buzzing paddles towards Oliver's chest and abdomen. "You didn't say clear!" she protested, the startled words slipping out as she yanked herself back from Oliver and the metal table he was laying on even while she watched; desperately hoping it would work.

 

She wasn't the least bit ready for Oliver Queen to die—not that readiness was something the Fates ever really gave a damn about.

 

_BEEP!_

 

Both of them frowned as nothing happened when the obviously not charged paddles made contact with Oliver's body, despite the beep that meant they were supposed to be sending electricity into him.

 

Then Felicity made the connection, and she was hurrying towards the machine. "I heard the charge," she murmured as she studied the back of the device.

 

"What?" the ex-soldier asked.

 

"That's good news." Felicity distractedly reassured him as she started fiddling with the wiring.

 

"How's that?" Diggle wanted to know, looking between her and the man that was all but dead on the table.

 

"It means it might not be the machine. It could be the wiring."

 

He accepted that, looking anxiously between her, the machine and their dying friend as she worked the wires. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on!"

 

Felicity nodded as she finished securing the wires into their proper places. "Try again."

 

Diggle nodded, saying clearly this time: "Clear."

  

And when he pressed the paddles to the proper places Oliver's whole body jolted. They both glanced at the monitor, but when the flat-line didn't change, Diggle repeated the action without saying anything. While Felicity started to wonder how the mortal would react to the much more controlled volts she might soon be sending from her own hands.

 

_Beep-Beep... Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

They both breathed sighs of relief as Oliver's heartbeat stopped racing in its own fight for life, then resumed a regular, steady beat that the archer's body could handle.

 

Diggle released another relieved breath as he put the paddles away. Then he was shaking his head as he turned back to ask her, "What the hell did you do?"

 

Felicity shrugged, her own heartbeat also steadier now that it looked like Oliver might be all right. "I've been building computers since the eighties. Back when they were _supposed_ to look like that," she indicated the less-than-state-of-the-art computer system almost on the other side of the room. "Wires are wires." She took a deep breath, then asked. "What do we do now?"

 

The ex-soldier chuckled tiredly. "Pray we don't have a heart attack ourselves," he murmured. Carefully patting Oliver's shoulder as if to ensure the daredevil of a man got the message.

 

Felicity bit her lip, glancing between the two men and the sad computer system. Deciding after a moment that, as distractions to pass the time went, it wasn't a bad one, she said, "Speaking of computers from the eighties? I _need_ to fix that."

 

Both of the soldiers eyebrows found his hairline again. "Now?"

 

Felicity shrugged, "Well, I need _something_ to do till he wakes up."

 

That had him smiling slightly. "Knock yourself out."

 

Well, installing the computer wouldn't do that. But what she had planned for while she made the muscular former soldier carry computer parts down here for her might.

 

Because she wasn't willing to let Oliver Queen die tonight, and that he'd survived this long told her cheating, just a little, with her Quickening, should be okay. She couldn't heal him completely, of course; she couldn't do it even if she wanted to, but collapsing at least the major start that'd normally happen in the first few weeks into a few minutes under her hand should guarantee his heart didn't stop again. Hopefully.

 

As long as she could get John Diggle out of the room for the few minutes that took. And to do that, she needed to go get those computer parts... and hope the billionaire turned vigilante didn't die in the interim.

 

Felicity bit her lip, not really thinking about it as she laid a gentle palm under the gorgeous man's slightly scruffy jaw for a moment, willing him to be all right; to hold on, to keep living. And then she blinked as she felt her Quickening surge without any further prompting—pulsing through her palm in a flood of warmth that made  the unconscious man turn into her touch, the edges of his mouth turning upward as she lent him her energy; shared the healing power of her Quickening with more ease than she'd ever imagined might be possible.

 

It was something that'd taken her centuries to master. Something most Immortals couldn't do.

 

Methos never had. He thought that was because he'd never be nearly as selfless as she was. Felicity thought it had more to do with the cold control of a great warrior—the unending watchfulness of the ultimate survivor—that he'd taught her, but she'd never entirely embraced. Not like Methos had; so much so that he could never turn it off enough to focus entirely on saving someone else without a sword at the ready in his hands.

 

Even for Felicity that part wasn't easy. It always took at least a few minutes of concentration to convince her subconscious to send that powerful part of herself into someone else. To work, temporarily, in someone else. Or at least it always had...

 

"Hey," Diggle's gentle voice startled her as he came up behind her, but she managed to not jump as his hand came down on her shoulder, while she folded her own together. "He's gonna be fine, Felicity." He told her, then nodded to the stairs. "Go on. Take a breather. Get some fresh air."

 

"Okay," the Immortal agreed softly.

 

She made herself turn to go even while she wondered why her Quickening was still humming softly in and between her palms. As if it was waiting to be used. To keep healing.

 

It'd never done that before either.

 

It was usually a struggle to keep calling it up and sending it out, pushing it through. A struggle she could make herself suffer through, but a struggle nonetheless.

 

The last time she'd done it had put her in a coma as she'd fought to prolong the life of a dying woman her brother loved. But the Quickening could only do so much in the body of a mortal, could only be split between its Immortal and someone else for so long. So eventually that subconscious, comatose fight had killed her. Stopped her heart.

 

Waking up from that death, knowing that she'd failed and Alexa was dead—her heart undoubtedly having stopped with Felicity's own—had joined her nightmares of too many devastating deaths that'd always haunt her.

 

Had fighting so hard, so long, for every heartbeat until her own had stopped, somehow changed Felicity more than that though?

 

Or was it just the draw she'd felt to Oliver Queen from the moment she met him?

 

"Felicity," Diggle's voice brought her out of her thoughts again when she was almost to the side door into the alley her car was still parked in. "Call, or come get me, when you get back. I'll bring everything down while you keep an eye on him."

 

"Okay," Felicity agreed easily, not seeing any reason to argue or ask for an explanation she already knew the answer to.

 

John Diggle was not a dumb man. Plus, he was a former soldier and security was his trade; he couldn't help himself. And his heavily muscled, tall frame would make a much less tempting target than a petite blonde girl carrying boxes of expensive equipment. It'd also give her the chance to try a little more healing, in the very timeframe she'd initially planned.

 

"Thanks," Felicity called over her shoulder as she reached the side door that really should be better hidden, considering the fact that nothing inside the vigilante's base of operations was. "I'll be back soon."


	5. Chapter 5

_ John Diggle's P.O.V. _

_BEE-EEE-EEE-EEP!_

 

John hurried towards the gurney again, already reaching for the defibulator paddles. "He's going into cardiac arrest again."

 

"No!"

 

The sheer authority that was somehow in the I.T girl's voice—and maybe because she'd had him lugging computer parts down here for her for the last half hour?—had him hesitating as she ran around him and started looking at the wires that were coming out of some of the devices they'd attached to Oliver to monitor his unreliable heart-rate.

 

"The leads just came loose," Felicity told him, and a second later the flat-line sound turned into the reassuring beeps again.

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

"Argh!" John couldn't help but growl. "It's less stressful when he's jumping off rooftops," he complained as he sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be one of the tabletops.

 

Felicity chuckled as she walked back towards the workstation she was putting together, only to stop instead at the table she'd set Oliver's bow down on after she'd found it still in her car upon her return to the Foundry. Her return from when she'd gone to her apartment, where she apparently kept a whole lot of brand-new, spare computer parts that she bought back here to 'modernize' the Hood's computer setup.

 

Though it wasn't really the computer stuff that surprised him. Not really. The billionaire vigilante _had_ found this girl in his company's tech department; she'd been recommended as one of their best...

 

Digg did have to wonder if that'd only been part of why Oliver had picked her out of the many I.T experts Q.C had to spare. If the fact that she was a pretty girl might not have played into his selection a lot as well—not because she was pretty, particularly, but because the longtime playboy thought he could use his charm on the girl to pull the wool over his eyes...

 

Something Digg had suspected in his first meeting with the blonde wasn't really happening; but by then she'd proven that, one; she was good at her job, and two, even if she wasn't fooled—she also wasn't talking. And three? Well, Digg couldn't help but wonder if Oliver had unwittingly had his 'charming' plans turned back around on him...

 

Especially after he'd watched the half-dead man lean into her touch with a smile. Though that likely had a lot to do with his subconscious seeking comfort when it was offered after a trauma; while he wasn't awake to make himself soldier on. Digg had still watched it with interest, since it'd seemed to make the younger man relax, his features almost lighting up even.

 

All the same, what really surprised the former soldier was the fact that the girl had gone home and come back, clearly without stopping for any longer than necessary. Sure, she may've washed her hands before she touched her computer parts. But she didn't take a quick shower. She didn't even change clothes. That struck him as odd. Even if the kindhearted girl's clear intention was to stay till she knew Oliver was going to be okay didn't.

 

The clearest read Digg had on her, after all, was that Felicity was one of those entirely too rare individuals that really cared about others. It was probably part of why Oliver didn't have trouble trusting her, even after he realized what Walter had had her looking into before he was abducted. It'd also probably prove a problem going forward, because while blood didn't seem to bother her at all, John was pretty sure being an accessory—of any kind—to murder certainly would. And what the Hood did to some of the unsavory individuals that wouldn't take the one chance he gave them to change—to prove they could change to being something other than part of the problem—well, that could be called murder. Maybe that big heart of hers could be a good thing, could help turn the Hood into more like a hero and less like an avenging angel in the shadows... but it was also why John didn't think she should be anywhere near any of this.

 

"Oh..." Felicity breathed out as she drew the bowstring back—and surprisingly she was able to do it without what looked like much effort at all. Apparently all that typing, combined with whatever else she did to stay in shape, really made a difference. "This bow has put arrows in quite a few people."

 

"Yeah." John nodded, adding on the clarification, "Bad people," without a thought.

 

There was no judgment in her tone; it didn't sound right. But he was a little too tired to think about why her tone—or, really, her lack of tone; lack of judgment—bothered him more than he thought a negative tone would. And he definitely was too tired to work out why it was that she seemed to know how to hold Oliver's big bow correctly.

 

"That doesn't bother you?" The girl wondered, her voice somewhere between curious and kind as she turned back to him, letting the bowstring go slack as she did. "Because, and I mean this in a good way," she set the bow back down as she finished. "You seem like the kind of guy it would bother."

 

So did she: seem like someone all of this would bother... Maybe that was why her kindness—her understanding—unsettled the him? Which would be more than a little hypocritical.

 

So John just sighed and tried to explain the gist of why he was here. "When I was in Afghanistan, my unit was tasked with protecting this local warlord. Gholem Qadir. Qadir was less than human. Sold opium. Sold _children_..." he shook his head, tried to shake off the revulsion he remembered feeling for the man. Revulsion he still felt. Even more for the fact that anyone on-high thought it right that American soldiers should be assigned to protect that monster. "One day, we were accompanying him to Mosul when my convoy was ambushed my insurgents."

Interestingly, Felicity wasn't looking at him as he told his story. Most civilians would be staring, too shocked by the very idea to hide their horror as they hung on his every word during any kind of war story. The tech girl that Oliver had dragged even further in his crusade tonight by hiding in her car just kept looking around.

 

And the occasional glances she sent his way? They weren't full of disgust or pity—they were compassionate, understanding.

 

Who the hell _was_ Felicity Smoak?

 

But again John didn't say anything, instead going on with the bad memory. One of his worst ones from the 'Stan. "We had them outgunned. Firefight didn't last more than a minute. When the smoke cleared, I moved in on their position. They were all dead." He closed his eyes.

 

Trying _not_ to remember how young that boy had looked with his eyes no longer full of hate because he was dead. Because John Diggle had shot him dead.

 

"I knew which one I had killed. When I pulled off his keffiyeh, I could see he was just a kid, no more than eighteen. And I shot him through the throat." He sighed, shaking his head wearily. "I killed this kid to protect this human piece of garbage, and I thought, am I still good? Am I still a good man?"

 

Now Felicity was meeting his eyes, and still there was just compassionate understanding in her gaze. Not a flicker of doubt or fear or any kind of condemnation at all.

 

And for the first time since John first saw her down here, as shocking and alarming as that'd been as he'd realized what it meant even before he saw the blood on her and followed her back out to the dying man in her backseat, he thought that maybe she would be able to help Oliver Queen past tonight.

 

Maybe this 'mission' to save Starling City was something she could accept, despite her lack of experience in the kind of past that made doing something like vigilantism for the right reasons resemble right. Feel right. Maybe even be right.

 

"Doing this with Oliver; doing what we do... I feel good again. For the first time in a long time." Diggle finished quietly.

 

"Hmm..." the blonde nodded, moving back towards Oliver's still form to study his face as she asked. "And that's worth the collateral damage?"

 

"I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you're asking," John replied, obviously referring to Oliver's crusade, since he'd just told her about someone he _had_ killed.

 

"But he has," she pointed out kindly, even as she turned to the medical cart and started shuffling through it. Again, no judgment. Just a statement of fact without emotional impact.

 

It wasn't surprising when she started pulling out some of the basic first-aid gear: alcohol-free antiseptic wipes and towels, and started cleaning Oliver up with them. If the man were awake he'd never allow it, but he wasn't, and she was only getting rid of all the blood and gore they'd had to ignore while they were first tending his injury, so John didn't even say anything.

 

Instead, the ex-soldier replied to her observation. "Unfortunately, there are always casualties when you're fighting a war."

 

"Yes, there are," Felicity agreed softly, her voice sounding far-off.

 

Again it seemed...odd. Like her mind was a million miles away, but what about all of this could trigger such thoughts in this girl that Oliver had burst out of the safe little bubble of the Q.C I.T Department?

 

But, again, John didn't say anything. Instead he asked, "Got anything else up in the car?" he'd looked around when he was last up there, but he hadn't looked inside her bloody backseat. It didn't seem likely that she'd put computer part there, even if they were safe in boxes, but going to get them would be something to do.

 

"No, other than the bloodstains under the tarp," Felicity shook her head, then gestured to the boxes he'd insisted on carrying down for her.

 

Partially because he didn't wanting another patient on his hands if their rickety stairs and her clear fatigue after too long a day got the best of her. Mostly though, he was wary of the attention that might befall someone who was moving a lot of boxes in the Glades eve if that someone wasn't a beautiful woman with eye-catching hair.

 

"If you want, you can start taking the monitors out? And I'll start setting up?"

 

"Yes ma'am," John chuckled and got to work. 


	6. Chapter 6

_ Oliver Queen's P.O.V. _

 

Oliver didn't like the foggy feeling that came with waking up after passing out from blood-loss. It was almost as bad as the fog that could be induced by drugs, but not quite. And while he didn't doubt Digg had given him something to ward off infection, the man also seemed to know him well enough to only give him a mild painkiller. So his senses could still come to full-alert, even though his whole body felt entirely tired and achy from the injury, the adrenaline, pain, bloodless; everything.

 

He heard their footsteps coming as soon as he opened his eyes to see he was right where he was supposed to be. In the Foundry; just like Felicity Smoak had promised.

 

Oliver wasn't surprised. More relieved by the concrete proof that he'd been completely right about her. Right to trust her.

 

He didn't turn his head quickly, he waited till they were right beside him before he carefully turned, wary of the complaints his neck would probably give. But it didn't seem to... that was almost enough of a surprise to make him frown. He was sure he wasn't high on pain-meds, so why wasn't he in more than a little pain?

 

Before he could frown, though, he saw Felicity's anxious smile.

 

"I guess I didn't die. Again," Oliver commented, forcing a little smile to try and reassure the girl that'd cared enough to both save his life and keep his secret. "Cool."

 

Diggle just shook his head and turned away, walking towards the nearest seat.

 

Felicity's eyes followed the ex-soldier for a moment, but then she looked back at him, her smile seeming a little less hesitant.

 

Oliver's own smile widened in response.

 

They stayed like that, for several long seconds, then their smiles almost dropped in unison—though Oliver's only fell when Felicity frowned.

 

"We should've gotten you a blanket," she murmured, her tone self-chastising. "It's _freezing_ in here."

 

Oliver rolled his eyes, and Digg's chuckle seemed to indicate his agreement, but neither one of them tried to stop the blonde from rummaging through the nearby cabinets.

 

They didn't help her, either; because Oliver knew he'd thrown blankets in some cupboard down here, on the off-chance he was ever stuck here when it really was cold, but he couldn't remember where and he'd never mentioned them to John. It'd been a pretty mild winter thus far.

 

Felicity found them in the fourth supply cupboard she tried, picking the thickest of them before she closed the cabinet again and came back towards him. Only to frown again. "That table _has_ to be cold," she murmured unhappily.

 

Oliver had to chuckle at that, though his injured upper body didn't appreciate the motion anymore than it did his starting to force himself up.

 

"No, no, no!" Felicity immediately protested, "you shouldn't—"

 

"I'm fine, Felicity," Oliver cut her off. Still finding it easy to smile for this girl, even through the pain. But he didn't complain when Diggle came back over to help him up. He reached for the blanket once he had his legs hanging over the side.

 

Felicity was faster. She had the thick throw wrapped around his shoulders, like she was trying to cocoon him in it, before he'd raised his hand even halfway.

 

Oliver blinked at her, taken aback by her forwardness even as she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her and looking down at the ground as her cheeks turned a little rosy. Again, he couldn't help grinning at her.

 

"I, um—I just need to finish something up," the girl stuttered, before she spun on her heel and headed towards his computer station without another word.

 

Oliver's eyes followed her, and his eyebrows immediately went up as he saw said station for the first time since waking. Apparently the I.T girl had kept busy while waiting for him to wake up.

 

But where had she gotten all the computer parts? She was still wearing the same clothes she had on when she found him in her car! Bloodstains and all!

 

"I sewed you up," Digg told him. "After we took the bullet out. Almost didn't; you'd already lost a lot of blood as it was. But Felicity pointed out it was a lot bigger than the shrapnel field medics leave in after I.E.D's, and that it was better to get it out now anyway." He grimaced. "Almost regretted it, when the heart monitor went wonky right after we pulled it out, but your bleeding seemed to slow down a lot after that. But we should get better equipment," he indicated the device they'd had Oliver hooked up to. "That one served its purpose, but Felicity says something's wrong with the wiring. She's a genius with all electronics, I guess, so she fixed it. But there's better stuff out there."

 

Oliver nodded, having expected this as soon as the ex-soldier started complaining. Though he was actually surprised they'd taken the bullet out, and that it'd worked out well. Apparently the contingencies he'd started forming as soon as he woke up—that would require him owing Amanda more favors if he needed to have ARGUS remove the bullet or at least provide a cover for it—wouldn't be necessary.

 

As long as Detective Lance, and anyone else, didn't realize that Oliver had gotten a gunshot wound in the same timeframe that his mother had shot the Vigilante, everything should be fine.

 

So he just nodded his thanks as he accepted the mirror that Diggle had brought over to him, shifting the blanket aside to look at his newest scar's reflection, though he first had to pull off the trauma pad they'd covered it with.

 

Something which surprisingly didn't make the injury start bleeding anew. In fact, it looked like the stitches had actually closed it completely. And considering it was a gunshot wound he'd received at nearly point-blank range, that was more than a little lucky.

 

"It's not bad," he commented, before looking back at his friend. "How am I going to explain this one?"

 

Diggle actually smirked. "Hickie gone wrong?"

 

Oliver gave him his best unimpressed look, then tried to bite back a grimace as he set the mirror down and tugged the blanket back into place, not bothering with putting the trauma pad back or asking for a new one just yet since the wound wasn't bleeding anyway.

 

 

"The police collected a sample of your blood at _Queen Consolidated_." Felicity called out then, though she didn't need to speak so loudly to gain their attention, it told him that they'd probably been speaking too softly for her to hear. Probably.

 

Oliver turned to look over at her, blinking in surprise at her thoroughness. Though he supposed, since computers were her specialty and she was the best Q.C had to offer, he shouldn't be surprised.

 

"I just hacked the crime lab and ordered the sample destroyed." She told them, pressing a button on the new—brand-new, from the looks of it—touch-screen monitor, then shrugging as she turned back to them—spinning in the new computer chair—with a smile. " _Oops_."

 

Oliver carefully shifted off the table, then walked over to her, glancing at the new setup that was so significantly more state-of-the-art than before that it all but demanded inspection.

 

The I.T girl smiled nervously, "I hope it's all right," she murmured as she stood up, shaking her head as she gestured to the three new computers she'd replaced his one with. "Your system looked like it was from the eighties, and not the good part of the eighties, like Madonna and, well, legwarmers."

 

Oliver again found himself smiling easily as he nodded.

 

Accepting such a setup from Felicity was easier than it'd ever be from Amanda, after all: he didn't like owing the Head of ARGUS any more favors than he had to.

 

"It's a lot of work," he commented, before catching her eyes. "Does that mean you're in?"

 

The corners of Felicity's mouth tugged further upward as she looked around, breaking eye-contact with him to do so. "You mean 'in' as in; I'm going to join your... crusade?" she hesitated on the last word, which could be why it sounded so odd as she said it.

 

The way the syllables twisted their way off her tongue made it sound like the word itself offended her somehow... At least, he hoped that was the case. Hoped that it wasn't that she was so entirely opposed to what he was doing for it to be leaking past her happy mask now. Because he'd been able to talk Diggle around, but the ex-soldier had objected with a fist to the face, not nervous smiles and careful words.

 

"Well," Oliver cocked his head to the side, trying and failing to catch her gaze again. "You're practically an honorary member of the team already."

 

Felicity hummed affirmation as she nodded, still looking away. "So Mister Diggle said..."

 

Diggle shrugged when Oliver looked at him.

 

This time, when Oliver looked back at Felicity again, she met his expectant gaze evenly, and he knew her answer even before she said it.

 

"I don't know," she sighed, shaking her head slowly.

 

Sadly? As if she didn't want to follow through with the motion; so maybe he had a chance?

 

Oliver's eyebrows shot up, though he couldn't say which was more surprising; her uncertain refusal, or the thought that he could see that a good argument might change her mind. "Then why'd you upgrade my system?"

 

She rolled her eyes, "Firstly, because seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me. In my soul," the I.T girl gestured behind her to the new computer setup before bringing her hand back to cover her heart—obviously referring to what'd been there before. "And second..." she hesitated, taking a slow breath.

 

And Oliver waited for whatever it was that could be worse than telling an unpredictable—if injured—vigilante that you weren't willing to help them.

 

"I want to find Walter."

 

Oliver cocked his head to the side, sincerely segwayed. "My stepfather," he clarified, even though there couldn't be anyone else she might mean.

 

Felicity nodded. "He was nice to me," she told him, her voice so small and timid it barely sounded like the genius he'd sought out not long after his return home. She continued more firmly as she indicated the former soldier that was silently following their dialogue. "And Mister Diggle told me that the notebook you use to fight crime is the same notebook that got Walter abducted."

 

This time Oliver was frowning as he glanced at the former soldier again, but he still only got a shrug in response. Then he had to turn back to Felicity as she continued resolutely.

 

"I'll help you rescue him, but that's it. Then I want to go back to my boring life as an I.T girl. That's... my offer." She said it all so quickly that he knew she'd been thinking this through for at least most of the time they'd been waiting for him to wake-up.

 

Her mind was made up. He could see it in her eyes, too. But she wasn't really saying 'no.' So he could still change her mind.

 

Oliver nodded seriously as he accepted the arrangement, "Okay."

 

Which earned him an instant smile from Felicity, one that outshone all the previous ones he'd seen ten-fold for sheer joy. A smile so bright it outshone every light lighting the room.

 

Though it fell a moment later, back towards the nervous smile, as she asked, "So, I-uh, I've been meaning to ask... Is there a bathroom? 'Cause I've had to pee since I got here."

 

Oliver chuckled as he indicated the nearby staircase. "Its upstairs, to the left."

 

And he was, again, unexpectedly touched. That she's apparently been so worried for him. Though it did make him wonder, again, where all the computer parts had come from. Diggle wouldn't have let her have anything shipped here...would he?

 

"Great," his tech girl nodded, before she started hurrying around him towards the indicated stairs.

 

Oliver turned with her, "Felicity..." he held out his hand to her as she stopped, waiting for her to accept the handshake.

 

She did; though she gingerly let him decide how much he wanted his hand to move. Like she was afraid a handshake could hurt him.

 

Then again, he should probably still be in bed—or on the gurney. To those who hadn't survived the sorts of hell he had, it would probably be unthinkable for him to be already up and about like he was... but the wound wasn't bleeding and there were no painful signs that he was pushing his abused body too far. If anything, his shoulder felt like he'd gotten shot days ago—rather than just a handful of hours—and was already on the mend. Since he wasn't bleeding anymore and wasn't lightheaded from the blood he had lost (likely due to a transfusion while he was unconscious), he'd have to assume he'd been very, very lucky in where his mother's bullet had hit him... and he really needed to find out what the hell they'd given him for painkillers. 

 

It wasn't the time though, so Oliver shoved the thoughts back as he nodded seriously to the blonde, "Thank you."

That earned him a softer smile and a nod. "Yeah," she agreed, before gently tugging her hand away and resuming her rushed-walk towards the aforementioned bathroom.

 

Oliver watched her go, trying not miss the somehow familiar warmth of her small hand encased in his, and to get his head around all the surprises that seemed to come from this unique woman. He wasn't surprised when Diggle spoke up as soon as she was out of earshot.

 

"Oliver, I know you don't want to hurt this girl and you didn't have any choice in telling her who you really were, but..." his 'bodyguard' met his eyes squarely as the billionaire turned back around. "We're asking her to get involved in some pretty dangerous stuff."

 

"We can protect her." Oliver answered firmly, with every intention of keeping Felicity Smoak far away from anything and everything that might be at all dangerous, whether she started helping them all the time or not.

 

" _How?_ " Digg demanded, the word almost a scoff as his eyebrows rose up by his hairline. "Your _mother_ just _shot_ you, Oliver. You can't even keep yourself safe."

 

And now they were onto what was really bothering his pseudo-bodyguard. Not that the man wasn't honestly concerned for the I.T girl, too, but he was also very invested in the fact that Moira Queen was up to something, something bad, and that Oliver just wasn't willing to see it because she was his mother. What'd led to him breaking into his mother's office and pointing an arrow at her in the first place.

 

"She was scared," Oliver told him firmly. "She was defending herself."

 

"Or," Diggle shook his head. "She was hiding something."

 

Oliver looked away, pressing his lips together into a firm line. It wasn't to keep any words from slipping out. He really didn't know what to say.

 

"Like maybe her involvement in Walter's disappearance?" Digg kept pushing. "Or worse?"

 

 _'Please don't kill me!'_ his mother's terror filled pleas echoed from his memories. _'Please don't take me from my children!'_

 

The words came to him then.

 

"Diggle, we don't always know why people do what they do." Oliver met his eyes again, even though that hadn't helped convince him yet. "But what I _do_ know, is that when I was standing in her office with an arrow aimed at her heart? She begged me to spare her, all on behalf of; _me_ , and Thea."

 

That finally gave the former soldier pause, but Oliver kept going even as his friend looked away.

 

"Now, I've taken down a lot of bad people. _None_ of them brought up their kids, Digg."

 

"Oliver," Diggle sighed, "She had the List."

 

The billionaire broke eye-contact this time, shaking his head even as his friend went on.

 

"Now, she may not be in charge of whatever 'it' is, but she's definitely involved."

 

"Involved in _what?!_ We don't even know _what_ _'it'_ is!" Oliver all but snarled, scowling with every bit of fury the Island—and all that followed—had taught him. "And until we do, she is _off_ limits!"

 

Diggle didn't back down right away; he never did, and he'd be much less useful to Oliver if that was in his nature.

 

So Oliver pressed further, "Am I clear?"

 

After another long moment, Diggle nodded.

 

Oliver knew it was too soon to relax, but the minute strain he'd been putting his recovering body under by just standing there and arguing was making itself known via an exhausted ache that seemed to stretch through every sinew. He wasn't doing himself any favors standing there some more, so he stepped back to sit down—sink down—into the much nicer (and also new) computer chair that'd also appeared while he was unconscious. And again, he wondered, even as he flipped back the blanket to let the cold air hit his wound again, if Diggle had actually let Felicity have all of this delivered to this 'abandoned' factory. It was now under construction to become a nightclub, so it shouldn't be suspicious enough to draw too much attention, but it set a worrying precedent.

 

Diggle spoke up before the billionaire could think of a way to ask about all this without implying that his partner was an idiot, "But Oliver," he continued, his tone much gentler now. "Are you saying this because you truly believe she's innocent?"

 

Oliver was glaring at him before he finished, knowing what words were coming, but Digg said them anyway.

 

"Or because you don't want to face the fact that your mother might be guilty?"

 

Oliver couldn't answer that, not without opening up the debate on whether or not his mother should still be the Hood's continuing target. So he just watched Diggle as the other man walked away.

 

His so-called 'bodyguard' wouldn't go far. Part of their arrangement was that he continue to play the role, and that meant he was Oliver's ride home. And he wouldn't leave Oliver alone here, not injured; anymore than he'd expect the I.T girl that'd just sort of joined their team to take care of him by herself.

 

He glanced up as the door to the inside of the factory opened up the admit said I.T girl back into the basement. "Find it okay?" he called up to her, again surprised when he realized he could tilt his head at that angle without his neck screaming protests. Especially after the exhausted aching had just made itself so suddenly known... it was odd.

 

Having been shot before, he knew it should hurt like hell. Granted, the Amazo had given him is most-similar G.S.W, and Ivo hadn't given them any kind of compassionate treatment during his sick experiments—let alone painkillers of any kind. But still, this should hurt more, shouldn't it?

 

What the hell had they given him for drugs? Because Oliver was going to buy it in bulk from now on. Something he should probably be doing anyway, come to think of it; to avoid suspicion. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it.

 

"Yeah, thanks," Felicity flashed him another smile as she came down the stairs, and a glance told him what'd actually taken so long. She'd taken the time to finally clean up, at least a little.

 

Her blouse was probably a lost cause; bloodstains and silk were something that couldn't be fixed by the laundry. Something Oliver had known even before he'd learned how to do laundry himself, because of the time Raisa had actually burst into tears when he'd asked her where his favorite dress shirt was. He'd been getting ready to move to... actually, he wasn't sure if that was Ivy League #2 or #3. All he really remembered was that a college was why he'd been asking, that particular silk shirt had come to mind when his mother told him to dress sharply; and that all such thoughts had been driven from his head by the sight of the woman who'd mostly raised him in tears...

 

But other than that condemning stain, the I.T girl looked presentable. Her long coat nearly hid the blouse from view anyway, and her sunny smile made it hard to notice the modest outfit she was wearing anyway.

 

A smile could hide a lot, he remembered Amanda advising him back when she'd been teaching him to 'embrace the darkness.' After all: you smiled when everything was good, so a smile was the best defense if you wanted everyone to think that nothing was wrong. Not unexpectedly, the advise had followed Oliver home to Starling City again. Though he wasn't sure why he was thinking of it now.

 

"We're going to install a shower down here," Oliver found himself telling her, grimacing when that got him an arched eyebrow. "We have to hide everything from the workmen, though, so—"

 

"And you need a reason to have a bathroom in the basement," She cut him off kindly, her smile looking like more of a smirk as she nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. Your club looks nice," she rambled on, now nervous again. "I mean, if you ignore all the construction equipment that's still there and pretend it's clean and... it'll look great when it's done."

 

Oliver chuckled, "Tommy's got everything pretty well taken care of," he agreed. Then asked more seriously, "Do you have any spare keys?"

 

"What?" she blinked at him, her big blue eyes wide behind her glasses.

 

"For your car," Oliver explained. "I can have Diggle get it cleaned up when you're at work, or whenever you want." Then he shrugged. "Unless you'd like a new car, instead? I'm good for that, too."

 

"...Thank you," Felicity nodded a little stiffly after another hesitation. "But that's not necessary."

 

"Those stains aren't going to come out easily," Oliver told her; mostly because he really didn't want her trying to explain to a too curious stranger how her back seat had gotten covered in blood. Because he could just imagine her babbling about how she _'hadn't_ found the Starling City Vigilante hiding in her backseat after he was shot. Really.'

 

The thought made him wince. And his new friend noticed.

 

"Are you okay?" she asked him, clear concern on her pretty face again as she came closer, but she caught herself a step away from him and stopped; dropping her hand uncertainly.

 

"I'll be fine," Oliver reassured her, meeting her eyes seriously. "And I said I'd take care of your car, Felicity. It's the least I can do. Please," he tacked on the last word when it looked like she'd object again, and it was enough to stop her.

 

The blonde's shoulders sagged as she sighed. "Fine... I have to be at work in," she glanced at her watch and winced. "Three hours. But I have to stop at home to shower and change, and I'll probably stop somewhere for coffee—and maybe a few energy drinks—but I have a spare key in my desk, at work. And at home. He can stop by whenever he's free."

 

Oliver was frowning again before she was halfway through that ramble, but he let her finish before he told her. "You should take the day, Felicity. Get some sleep."

 

"Nuh-uh," the I.T girl shook her head immediately. "I don't get sick, so I haven't taken one sick day since I started at Q.C, and I'm not going to start now just 'cause I had to pull an all-nighter. The tyrant would make me regret it. I'll take a nap during my lunch break." She was frowning as she considered that. "Though I'll have to find a new hiding place if Mister Diggle takes my car before that."

 

Oliver shook his head, everything in him against the idea of this woman driving anywhere on next to no sleep. Though he also filed away 'the tyrant' comment for later research; if she was going to be working with them, he needed to know how her work environment might affect them, and vice-versa.

 

Felicity wasn't trained to work these kind of hours; which was made obvious by the fact that she wasn't even contemplating an attempt at a catnap until she was halfway through her workday. As if the half-hour nap she might be able to take then could make up for not getting any sleep at all the night before.

 

The idea of her driving home, then to work, working, and then trying to drive home again, didn't sit well with him at all. All it'd take was her nodding off, even for just a second, at just the wrong second, and she'd be _gone_...

 

"Then I'm hiring you for the day," Oliver decided firmly, going on before she could do anything more than frown. "I'll clear it with your supervisor. I need someone to start working on the security system here at the club, and since you've already done everything that can be done till the cameras are installed, you can spend the rest of the day sleeping."

 

"Mister..." she stopped, hesitating another moment as she shook her head, then tried to insist; "Oliver, you can't—"

 

"It's my name on the building, Felicity. Your supervisor won't say a thing."

 

Felicity's wince at the mention of her supervisor told him it might not be as easy as all that. It was unlikely anyone at Q.C would even say 'boo' to Oliver, but that didn't mean some people wouldn't agree with him then give Felicity afterwards. Further confirmation that 'the tyrant' probably was said supervisor. Who wouldn't bother her by the time Oliver was through with him. This might stir up a little trouble with his mom—but since the Hood had just broken into _Queen Consolidated_ , he doubted she'd say anything once he used the cover of having a security system installed in the place he'd be spending the majority of his time.

 

"Okay, you win," Felicity conceded with a sigh; then jerked her chin up stubbornly before he could respond. "But only if you let me bandage you up again. You were just shot!"

 

Oliver rolled his eyes, but then nodded, "Sure." He spun in the chair to watch her as she made her way back to the medical supply cart; clearly having already looked through it enough times to know where what she needed was. The action reminded him of the new chair he was sitting in and the new computers behind him. "Where did you get all of this stuff, anyway?"

 

"Hmm?" Felicity glanced back at him, then turned back to the cart, still collecting supplies once she'd registered what he was indicating. "Oh. I have a storage locker full of, um, this sort of stuff," she shrugged as she turned and made her way back to him, setting her tray of goodies on the table beside him. "I build computers sometimes; as a hobby."

 

Oliver leaned back in the chair. "Okay, I get how that'd lead to you have a few spare parts lying around. But three brand-new computers? And a chair?"

 

"The chair's my backup; the ones Q.C provides suck—sorry, but they do—so most of us buy our own," Felicity replied evenly, her eyes locked on his wound, which she was surprisingly not at all squeamish about. She looked right at it without flinching or wrinkling her nose, and her hands were as steady as any professional's; gentle, but thorough. "And I've been competing with a friend, recently. We try to beat each other every few years; see who can build a better computer. Or, well, sometimes it's... other stuff."

 

Oliver wasn't about to let that lay, even as she was bandaging him up, "'Other stuff?'"

 

The I.T expert sighed, then admitted, "Mostly hacking, these days."

 

"Hacking?" Oliver wasn't surprised.

 

Not at all. Not by the reference to hacking at least. He already knew she was a computer genius, after all. Hacking wasn't a huge leap from there.

 

No, what he was still surprised by was the fact that it didn't feel like she was stabbing him each time she prodded his injury while cleaning it—clearly she was checking the stitches, to make sure he hadn't pulled them. Though what sort of experience or training she had to judge them by was a mystery. He really, really needed to find out what the hell they gave him for painkillers.

 

"Um-hum," the blonde verified without expounding, all of her focus fixed on taping the new trauma pad securely to his shoulder.

 

"Hacking what?" Oliver pressed, curious to see how much he could get her to reveal. Not sure why he was following that conversation instead of just asking the questions that kept coming back around in his head.

 

The I.T expert sighed, finishing pressing the last piece of tape into place before she stepped back and put her hands on her hips, cocking her head to the side just like she had that first time he'd tried to lie to her and hadn't been believe; except this time he was the one looking up at her. "I think we've already had more than enough surprises for one day, Mister Queen, don't you think?"

 

"Sure," Oliver chuckled, willing to give her that one. For now. "And I told you, it's Oliver."


	7. Chapter 7

_ Methos' P.O.V. _

 

Methos frowned as the reporter finished his brief spiel about the break-in at _Queen Consolidated_ the previous night.

 

Although he was thousands of miles away from Starling City, it wasn't much of a surprise that the story had made it into the local news. Big companies merited the media's attention; especially since it wasn't just a break-in, but the city's own Vigilante—every time he was in the news there seemed to be a capital 'V' there, unless they were calling him 'The Hood,' in which case there were two capitals. Sometimes the 'The' was capitalized before 'Vigilante,' too.

 

Methos didn't really care about either.

 

Except for the fact that Felicity now worked at _Queen Consolidated_ , in their headquarters, which were in Starling City. And though she'd supposedly chosen to play a 'lowly I.T girl' this time around, her past history told him that the odds were very good that she'd somehow cross paths with this man that the reporters were occasionally calling a hero now. Particularly since she'd been starting to chafe against boring, normal, safe lives these past few decades, as the memories of past traumas started to become a little less relevant.

 

And, thanks to the contacts Methos still had within the Watchers, Starling City was already on his mind. Really them knowing that he was an Immortal (not Methos, of course, but former Research Watcher Adam Pearson) worked out pretty well for him. Because there were quite a few Watchers who liked the idea of following in Joe Dawson's footsteps, and an Immortal who'd supposedly once been one of them was much less intimidating than some of the other Immortals that the Watchers could supposedly directly approach because they knew about the mortals that kept track of their lives. There'd come a time when Methos would need to lose them; maybe even a time when he'd have to out of more than annoyance one felt for a cricket that'd kept chirping nearby too long. But until then several of them were more than happy to send him emails every now and again telling him about certain places—and people—he should avoid.

 

The latest warning was interesting. It essentially boiled down to: don't go to Starling City because there's a jewel thief on his way there that's known for decapitating people. Not because he's an Immortal. No. Winnick Norton was a mortal man born in London. He just liked to slap bomb-collars on people to make them steal for him, and he'd blown a head off for failure to comply before.

 

The mention of this 'Dodger' would just be vaguely interesting, perhaps even morbidly entertaining, if not for the city he was setting up shop in next. Starling City. Felicity Smoak's current home of choice.

 

Felicity Smoak—because that was her name now. She _always_ insisted on being addressed by the name she'd chosen for her current lifetime. Something computers and encrypted emails had made it a little easier to keep up on than it'd once been, but he still found it a little odd sometimes.

 

Sure, he changed his name all the time, too, but in his head he'd always be 'Methos.' He was pretty sure her name wasn't so stuck in place. Wasn't so important to her.

 

Maybe because changing her name was part of how she let go of the past? Or something similar? That was something he knew she had trouble with even when it was planned.

 

It almost wasn't worth calling her, but he had to try. If only so he might be able to talk himself out of actually _going_ there to maybe kill her—temporarily—and move her to somewhere safer. Because he just knew he wouldn't be able to get her to go on vacation while the bomb-collar wielding jewel-thief was in town. Still, he tried.

 

" _Hel-lo?_ " Felicity answered after the third ring, a yawn audible through the word even as she tried to muffle the one that followed: ineffectively thanks to her state-of-the-art phone's super sensitive receiver.

 

Methos frowned and did the math a second time as he glanced at the clock. "Why are you sleeping? It's almost 1 P.M there, isn't it?"

 

" _Hum, yes, it is,_ " his old friend and former student confirmed. " _So; good afternoon._ "

 

Methos rolled his eyes, knowing she wouldn't explain till he returned the pleasantry. Not unless he played the 'it's an emergency' card, and he knew better than to lie about that.

 

Even if any _sensible_ Immortal would recognize that some mortal who goes around decapitating people coming to your town _should_ be something you'd worried about.

 

"Good afternoon."

 

Felicity chuckled, but finally explained. " _I had to pull an all-nighter last night... Installing a security system._ "

 

Methos heard the hesitation, and it had him frowning again. "For the Queens? The Queen Family?"

 

Another hesitation, then;

 

" _Kind of,_ " Felicity verified evasively; clearly not wanting to talk about her work.

 

Her moral code was too strong for gossip, it always had been.

 

That might come from her childhood. Being raised a princess, only to become a ruling queen before she hit puberty... thankfully, though, that was years before she met her first death, and then woke as an Immortal.

 

Where an Immortal came from was always a key piece in their personality. Even if the one parent that'd raised them had only been there a few short years, some personalities were strong enough to leave a great impression. And from everything he'd heard of Dido of Carthage, well before she became a legend from ancient times she was certainly an impressive individual—even before he'd met her daughter that history had kindly forgotten with just a bit of help.

 

Maybe all of Felicity's morals didn't come from the mother she'd watched walk into a funeral pyre. The basis was there, though... and the sheer stubbornness of the first Carthaginian queen certainly carried through to the second one.

 

Felicitas had live a very privileged childhood, though it was a short one, which wasn't at all uncommon back then. Then she'd been an excellent sovereign—both to Carthage in her youth, and every other time she'd _somehow_ ended up leading nations after that. Nonetheless, she'd always referred to the privilege, the 'trappings of wealth' and whatnot, as an elaborately gilded cage she had to 'put up with to get anything done.'

 

In this day and age, she could now live as merely an independent woman. She didn't have to be a powerful queen or even a guarded noblewoman for her self-autonomy to be assured. But that was a very, very new thing to a woman that'd been around for several millennia. And said millennia had undoubtedly had a lasting effect on her opinion of ethics.

 

" ** _So what can I do for you this fine afternoon, big brother?_** " Felicity asked, slipping easily into her first tongue as he heard her coffee-grinder start up in the background, which immediately made him want coffee, too.

 

The only student he considered family was fluent in many, many different tongues, just like he was; they'd had to learn them, after all, as the times changed and they wandered the world as their kind must. But an extinct language, one that nearly no one would ever recognize these days, was always a safe bet. Even most learned scholars who could read it wouldn't have an easy time with its use in conversation. And even when they didn't particularly need to be paranoid, it was comfortable.

 

It was also her way of asking him if this was an Immortal issue. If he was warning her about a head hunter headed her way. He did that sometimes; and sometimes she actually listened to him and avoided the bastard. Other times she didn't.

 

Methos replied in Carthaginian just as easily. " ** _You can agree to a vacation._** "

 

Most scholars referred to the dead tongue as 'The Punic language,' but some recognized it as 'Phoenicio-Punic' or 'Carthaginian.' In ancient times, it'd depended where you were, what the dialect twisting the words were. Though the scholarly designation wasn't one he'd ever heard the Canaanite language called. No. It was primarily known as the tongue of the Carthaginian Empire, after all; a nation that'd extended through much of Northern Africa and across several islands in the Mediterranean, spoken by the Punic peoples of that nation from about 800 B.C. to 600 A.D. Though it'd twisted into more divergent dialects after the Romans destroyed Carthage was by in 146 B.C. Well after Felicitas and Methos had long left the region...

 

Felicity snorted. " ** _When?_** " she asked, the sarcasm so thick through the word that it almost wasn't worth replying.

 

But then Methos knew this call would be like that, so he promptly answered; " ** _Right now. Anywhere you want._** "

 

He knew she wouldn't bite, but he still tried. Unfortunately there wasn't something specific going on somewhere other than Starling City right now to tempt her with, because without something of that sort he could really only expect one response from her.

 

He could almost see her rolling her eyes before she replied. " ** _Thank you, but no. I have to give at least a little notice at work._** "

 

Methos just sighed, "Then just promise me you'll stay away from any and all jewelry—jewels of any kind—in Starling City that might've originated in Spain during Ferdinand's reign after 1812."

 

" _...Why?_ "

 

" _Because_ ," Methos bit out, trying to convince himself that every word he was saying wasn't a waste of time. "A jewel-thief called the Dodger's headed to Starling City sometime soon and he likes stuff from the Ominous Period."

 

" _A jewel thief,_ " Felicity repeated, thought about it a moment, then pointed out. " _You know, Amanda steals jewels. You don't try to make me avoid her._ "

 

"She steals the jewels herself, and if she wanted your help she'd just ask. And take 'no' for an answer—usually." Methos replied dryly, though the words were sharper as he went on; "She wouldn't put a bomb around your neck and make you steal the jewels for her."

 

" _...Oh. Oh wow, this guy really is pretty nasty, isn't he?_ " His former student replied, now sounding a little distracted. Which told him she was probably already hacking her way through Interpol or something similar.

 

"Yeah, he—"

 

" _Why would he come to Starling?_ "

 

"Who cares?" Methos demanded.

 

" _Hey, you brought him up,_ " Felicity pointed out. " _You actually called me about him. And woke me up._ "

 

" ** _Because I don't want some mortal who's too lazy to risk his own neck for some jewels blowing yours up!_** " Methos snapped, in Carthaginian again; then scowled when she actually tisked at him.

 

" ** _Big Brother,_** _you do realize Starling City is a city, right?_ " She asked, going on before he could snarl the obvious answer. " _One with over half-a-million people living in it?_ "

 

" _Yeah, well, you're the only one I know,_ " Methos retorted after taking a deep breath. " ** _And you have a history of finding people like this._** "

 

" _I do not!_ "

 

There were dozens—maybe even hundreds—of incidents he could start listing off if he wanted to, but that wouldn't get them anywhere.

 

"You don't even _like_ jewelry that much," Methos reminded her. "It reminds you of the **_gilded cages_** , remember?"

 

" _That's... kind of true, I guess. The reminder part, anyway,_ " Felicity allowed, before continuing with an obvious pout in her voice. " _But I like jewelry._ "

 

Methos rolled his eyes. "Just promise you'll stay behind your computer screens and not go jewelry shopping or to any museums while he's in town."

 

" _...How long's he gonna be in town?_ "

 

"Felicitas!" Methos growled her original name without really thinking about it.

 

Normally he wouldn't use their ancient names where anyone might hear them, let alone record them. But there wasn't enough chance of that happening now for paranoia to block his aggravation with his former student.

 

Said student, of course, all but ignored him. " _How do you even know he's coming to Starling?_ "

 

" ** _The Watchers told me,_** " Methos replied without really thinking about it, then winced. " ** _And disliking their choice of occupation is no reason to ignore their warning._** "

 

This time the hesitation was shorter, and her voice was thoughtful as she replied back in the dead language of her childhood. " ** _Why would the Watchers be watching him? You said he's mortal._** "

 

"I didn't ask. Didn't care." Methos admitted. "Felicity, you—"

 

" ** _Thank you for the warning, Big Brother_** _,_ " the younger ancient cut him off, the precise formality of the Phoenician she was using now reminiscent of the queen she'd been raised to become long ago. The regal ruler that never failed to impress: even him. " ** _I shall endeavor to avoid losing my head over any trinkets._** " The crisp regality left her voice as she switched to English once more, " _Anything else to chat about?_ "

 

"Starling City's Vigilante paid your boss a visit recently, didn't he?"

 

Another hesitation before she answered. " _Yeah. Yeah, he did. Apparently._ "

 

Damn. That meant she was hiding something. Something he wouldn't like anymore than any of the other times he'd turned up in her life to find it full of a lot more danger than he'd ever taught her to seek out.

 

If it was something that involved the archer in Starling City, as her hesitation implied... well, Methos could be glad, at least, that the man was just running around shooting arrows into people, he guessed.

 

But that sort of skill-set wasn't common in this Age. Even if movies about—or at least involving—amazing archers seemed to be an 'in' thing for Hollywood of late. Even if that simple fact had renewed interest in the bow and arrow.

 

Interest alone did not make a warrior. And the man parkouring around Starling City, taking on whole gangs alone, and sometimes putting people down with arrows, was a warrior.

 

Maybe even his sister's 'type,' with his luck.

 

Methos sighed, wondering how long it'd be before he finally had to stop wondering and just go see what she'd gotten herself into now. "I'll have my cell phone on me all the time," he told her firmly. "You'll call me if you need anything."

 

" ** _Of course, Big Brother... And thank you._** "

 

_End of_ ** _Sudden Life Changes_**.

* * *

**NEXT: Real Near-Death Experience Number...what?**

_Because bomb collars were a bad invention._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 6/8/2015.  
> REVISED: 9/26/2015.  
> Author's Revision Note: Ok! There's the revision! One new scene, a few new tidbits thrown in.


End file.
